Parallel Lines
by Miss Shannon
Summary: Sometimes all you need is some reassurance. (Raydor/Hobbs friendship)


**Parallel Lines**

**by Miss Shannon**

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**Summary: **Sometimes all you need is some reassurance. (Raydor/Hobbs friendship)

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**1992**

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Her reasonable one inch heels click on the stairs that lead up to the entrance and she counts every carefully measured step. The handle of her handbags digs into her lower arm from which it dangles, stuffed with papers that weigh more than anyone would ever expect them to. She looks up from where she is busy not slipping and embarrassing herself and pauses for a moment, her gaze lifted towards the building she is about to enter. The court house looks majestic when illuminated by the pale morning sun that is just making its way up into the sky. Light is reflected from the windows and the white marble statue of Lady Justice that is mounted above the entrance. Andrea feels watched by the Roman goddess despite the fact that she is blindfolded. Other than most of her other likenesses, this one looks almost fragile with long, slender arms and legs, clad in a toga whose fabric looks light and flowing despite the fact that it is carved from stone. Her long hair falls over delicate shoulders and her full lips are slightly parted.

Andrea resumes her walk, feeling foolish. She has been looking forward to this moment for the past seven years and yet she doesn't feel exhilarated at all. Instead she is scared and has to fight the urge to turn around on her heel and flee. She pushes open the front door and walks into the impressive atrium that, even at this early hour, is bristling with clerks and attorneys. A judge hurries past her, swinging a velvet black robe around his shoulders as he walks, his hands quickly closing the buttons. She smiles at the sight, wondering when she will be ready to actually let herself be at the brink of being late for a court date. She checks her watch and realizes that she is still almost a full hour early.

She feels foolish in her new suit, lost, as if everyone who lays eyes on her is bound to notice that she is new at this. That she is actually playacting. Andrea doesn't feel like a public prosecutor. She feels like the 27-year old girl that she is. She used to be great in moot court, her professors in law school lauded her and gave her top marks. Now, faced with a trial that will feature her as the prosecuting attorney, she feels like a fraud. She's been working at the DA's office for almost a year now but this is the first time she actually has to stand up in court and represent the people. Her mouth feels dry and she wonders whether she should go over her notes again, but then she already knows them by heart. Andrea has always been an overachiever and she knows when she is perfectly prepared. There is nothing else she can do and she wonders how on earth she will be able to get her trembling hands under control and whether she'll end up stuttering her way through her opening argument because she is so horribly nervous.

The court room is easy to find. It is medium-sized and there is no one waiting in front of it yet. It is not a huge, important trial that draws the press's attention. Armed robbery. The defendant, Carl Stone, walked into a liquor store with a Glock and threatened to blow the clerk's brains off if he didn't hand over the day's earnings. He walked out of the store with the money in a hessian bag, his gun tucked away in the back of his jeans. Two sergeants from Robbery/Homicide were close and chased him across town during which he fired at them and hit one of them in the shoulder. Andrea sits down in one of the chairs. She feels feeble without having had any breakfast but the idea of actually swallowing something that would end up in her aching stomach still doesn't feel compelling. She folds her hands in order to calm herself. She is good, she knows it, and her superiors wouldn't have assigned her to this case if she wasn't able to do it. It is an easy one, really. For a moment she concentrates on the sunlight on her face that streams in through one of the stained glass windows.

As the sound of heels startles her, her eyes fly open and she scrambles to her feet in the most undignified way she can imagine. Embarrassed, she stands and blinks against the sun, trying to make out the woman who is walking down the corridor. The light catches in her hair and makes it light up like fire. It is not actually red, Andrea notices, more like a light brown, but it seems to hide a secret shade of red that can only be seen like this. The hair is full and long and, though straight, is curled at the ends of the long strands. Andrea unwittingly brings her hand up to her own straight blond hair that never seems to do anything she wants it to. She wears it in a simple bob that is as low-maintenance as it gets, really. The woman approaching seems like an apparition. Tall due to the high-heeled shoes she so effortlessly walks in and comfortable in a tailored black suit. Her slender legs and small waist should inspire envy but all Andrea feels is awe and a strange tingle in her fingertips. That woman has everything Andrea is so desperately wishing for right now. The way she walks suggests complete self-assurance. A natural authority even. Nothing can rattle that woman, Andrea muses. She would deliver that opening argument in a heartbeat.

She swallows when the other woman gives her a smile and approaches, extending her hand in greeting. Andrea takes it and feels a jolt of electricity going through her. Something about this woman is so alluring that it makes her completely forget about the trial that she was fearing just a moment go.

"You must be Ms Hobbs. My name is Sharon Raydor."

The injured sergeant, Andrea realizes, who is here to testify. Her heart sinks and she feels even more inadequate than before. Sharon Raydor's perfume lingers subtly but to Andrea it fills the room. She can't identify it's components but it has to be expensive because it seems both light and heavy, both sweet and bitter. It is a scent Andrea would be happy to drown in and suddenly she wonders where that thought came from.

"Hi, uh, nice to meet you," she stammers, hating herself instantly. Sharon Raydor is ten years her senior. She's memorized her date of birth from the files just like every other seeemingly irrelevant detail. She has transferred to Internal Force Investigations following the shooting and Andrea wonders why as Raydor doesn't look like someone who would be scared following an injury. The shooting took place months ago and Andrea can't spot even a subtle sign that would indicate that there has been a wound.

"Do you mind if I sit next to you? Traffic was less terrible than I expected and so I'll take the opportunity and go over some notes."

"Sure, that's fine," Andrea says and is surprised that she is able to form a coherent sentence. Both of them sit down and Sergeant Raydor begins to read what she has written. Andrea wants to say something but she's unable to. It is only when the other woman looks up from her notepad and smiles at her that she realizes that she is hopelessly attracted to her.

The first day of trial takes a lot longer than Andrea expected. She makes her way through her opening argument without embarrassing herself too much, she misses one or two opportunities to object to the defense's questions but all in all, things are going okay. She is exhausted when the judge finally adjourns until the next day. When she turns around she is surprised that Sharon Raydor is still there. She was discharged as a witness almost an hour ago after recounting the events calmly and without visible emotional involvement. She catches Andrea's eyes and waves, grinning as she walks over to the prosecution's table.

"That went well," she says.

Andrea feels worn and tired but also strangely excited. She just finished her first day of trial. She is a real prosecutor now. No more trainee work, no more studying. She finally is where she has been heading to for years. She smiles at Sharon Raydor and nods; her heart suddenly feels light.

"My first trial ever," she confesses, her voice what seems like a few octaves higher than she intended. Raydor raises both of her eyebrows and tilts her head with a closed-mouth smile so Andrea adds: "I was scared out of my mind this morning."

The sergeant laughs. "I noticed. That's why I decided to stick around and tell you that you did really well today."

Those words coming out of a stranger's mouth would have usually angered Andrea, but Sharon Raydor doesn't sound patronizing at all. She's completely genuine in her support, it seems, and Andrea feels a warm feeling spreading through her chest. Raydor checks her watch and shrugs.

"I'll have to run. Gotta pick my kids up from school. Maybe we should have a drink someday." She touches Andrea's shoulder lightly and then walks out as Andrea sinks into her chair. That highly professional woman, bristling with self-confidence, thinks that she did well on her first day and even took the time to wait around to tell her. She smiles contently to herself. Maybe she isn't such a fraud after all. Maybe Andrea can be the woman she always wanted to be.

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**2012**

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Sharon hasn't slept well. Having a teenager living with her again is one thing. It being a teenager who hates her and uses every opportunity to affront her is another. She didn't expect Rusty to give her hugs and call her "Mom", but she has to admit she wasn't prepared for this gross ingratitude and open hostility. Just this morning he expressed his disbelief at the fact that someone married her in front of Cynthia, his social worker, and although Sharon managed to keep a straight face and ignored the comment, she felt hurt and still does. Sharon feels a headache creeping up and neck and she knows that it will soon reach her forehead and turn into the blinding, searing pain that accompanies each and every one of her migraines. Back in FID, she could have gone home now, but Major Crimes is different. They have a murder to solve and every hour that passes makes it less likely that they will.

She likes her new job, likes a challenge and yet it is ironic that with this job came another child to care for as she transferred from active duty to more or less a desk job in FID twenty years ago to be able to be home with her children by five. Rusty won't have the luxury of having her home at regular times but then he is probably happier, anyway, with her absent from her condo. The days are much longer now and sometimes she thinks she's feeling her age. On other days, like today, she almost believes what Provenza makes so clear without ever explicitly stating it: that she is not cut out for the job. Taylor's unwillingness to make her commander and his not so subtle jabs at her age don't help either and she feels ready to just hand in her badge and take the retirement she has qualified for.

She sits down in the conference room, rolling her eyes at Provenza who's shepherding Flynn and Sanchez to the break room in order to get a quick coffee before the meeting. She, however, is not asked to tag along which does not surprise her in the least. She sits down and places her palms flat on to the table, enjoying the coolness of the smooth surface against her skin. She can do this, she tries to assure herself. She can do anything if she tries hard enough. Sharon can tell that Flynn has already accepted her and Sanchez is coming around, too. It is just the youngest and the oldest men currently roaming their offices, that she has to either convince or defeat. The door opens and reveals Andrea in a cream blazer and black top, carrying two cellophane cups of coffee. To Sharon, her presence feels as soothing as cold water on a burn.

"Boy, Provenza hates your guts." She strides over towards the table and sets one of the cups down in front of Sharon, a small white pill rolling from her palm to come to rest next to it. "You have that look in your eyes when there is a migraine coming up," she says as she effortlessly lowers herself into the chair next to her.

Sharon is unable to voice how grateful she is and washes the painkiller down with a sip of the strong, black coffee. She usually prefers tea, but caffeine is the only thing that keeps her going when migraine strikes and Andrea knows.

"Provenza does hate my guts," she admits darkly, wrapping her cold hands around the cup. "And so does Rusty."

She notices the other woman's intense gaze and turns her head to look at her only to discover a smile tugging at Andrea's mouth.

"You think you're in over your head," she says. "You think you're not good enough."

Sharon doesn't like to admit to weakness, even in front of a friend, but Andrea's words pretty accurately describe her current state of mind so she nods.

Curiously, Andrea's smile only widens.

"I can't believe it. The incredible Sharon Raydor, my longtime role model, does have weaknesses after all."

At first Sharon is a bit irritated as the other woman's words make her feel like she's being made fun of but then she notices the genuine look in Andrea's clear blue eyes and finds that she actually means what she's saying. Before she can ask, Andrea elaborates.

"When I first saw you I thought you were invincible. I was so, so scared to step in front of the judge and the jury and the defendant. God, I was nervous. And then there was you."

Sharon isn't sure whether she's supposed to feel flattered or intimidated and so she sips her coffee and thinks about that day. She had just transferred to FID and was beginning to settle in. The trial was the one thing that still lingered from the past job and she dreaded coming there to testify because it meant reliving what had happened. The bullet in her shoulder hadn't done as much damage as it could have and adrenaline had prevented her from feeling most of the pain. At the ER she had been discharged quickly in order to go home to her children. And that was when she realized that, had the bullet hit her a little lower or in the head, those kids would be on their own. Her estranged husband was useless when it came to parenting. His gambling debts were piling up while he spent his money buying alcohol to wash the fear away. They had only her and it was her responsibility to make sure that she was around to take care of them.

"You looked like you owned the place," Andrea says, sipping her own coffee with a smirk that makes Sharon wonder when the timid young woman who performed surprisingly well in court twenty years ago became such a self-assured DDA. They exchange glances and Sharon smiles back, feeling strangely reassured. Andrea is a friend. They always kept in contact even though their meetings were always sporadic. They are kindred spirits, Sharon thinks. Sometimes she regards Andrea as a younger version of herself although their lives are so different. Andrea doesn't have kids and she has been happily married to her husband Steven for almost twenty years. Plus, she doesn't have a foster son who might be plotting ways to kill her.

"I did?" she asks after a long period of silence. "I was actually terrified because I thought I might burst into tears in front of everyone."

Andrea's eyes widen and Sharon is once again reminded of how much she likes the fact that Andrea's every emotion shows on her face. She is confident enough not to guard her expressions unless it is absolutely necessary and Sharon envies her.

"You didn't look terrified at all," Andrea says and chuckles, looking as if she is about to confess something she is not sure she should be disclosing. Then she smiles. "I had such a crush on you."

Sharon gives a little jolt of laughter that could be due to both embarrassment or feeling flattered but even she is not sure which.

"Really?" she asks.

Andrea smiles widely. "Really," she says. "I don't usually crush on women, so feel flattered."

"I do." Sharon answers before she has time to think about it. They both give embarrassed chuckles before Andrea reaches out and places her hand on top of Sharon's.

"I know we don't see much of each other, especially away from the job, but I do consider you a close friend, Sharon. You showed me that being good at what you do is not enough, that you need to believe in yourself in order to make it work." She smiles. "What I am trying to say is, I think you should stop allowing Provenza to walk all over you and kick his ass already."

Either the painkiller is kicking in or the knot inside her chest resolves, but Sharon can literally feel her head clear. She frowns, then nods.

"You're absolutely right."

Footsteps are approaching outside and Sharon straightens up, pulling at her blazer.

"No worries. You look perfect." Andrea winks at her to which Sharon cocks an eyebrow.

"You just have the hots for me."

Both women are still giggling when the door opens and the men file in and even Provenza's disapproving sneer is replaced with a stunned look at this side of the Captain that he's never seen before.

Maybe she can do it. Maybe she can show Provenza and Taylor that she is up to job, that her methods might be different, but that she's every bit as efficient as Brenda Leigh Johnson. Maybe, Sharon muses, maybe she can once again be the woman Andrea thought she was all those years ago.


End file.
